


Opportune

by Seascribe



Category: due South
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, New Relationship, Sleeping Together, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seascribe/pseuds/Seascribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kowalski has blown Ray seven (and a half) times total, and Ray's gotten the chance to return the favour exactly never.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opportune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aerye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/gifts).



> Thanks to Deputychairman for resuscitating it when I thought all was lost (twice!), and to Scribe for making it better.

Kowalski loves giving head. Doesn't matter where they are, Kowalski's pretty much always up for it. He's blown Ray in the Riv (three times), the hallway of his run-down apartment building (once), and in the supply closet at the 2-7 (two and a half times, and it was sheer dumb luck that the new civilian aide didn't see Kowalski on his knees behind the stack of printer paper when she stuck her head in to grab paperclips that last time). 

Kowalski's not just enthusiastic about giving head, either. He's damn good at it too, and after his stint in Vegas, Ray's pretty much an expert on that subject. So things oughta be good. Hell, things _are_ good, and not just the sex. Kowalski's finally starting to lose the scary dark shadows under his eyes that he came back from Canada with and Ray's made it almost a week without waking himself up with screaming nightmares. This new thing they've got going is working for them. 

But Kowalski has blown Ray seven (and a half) times total, and Ray's gotten the chance to return the favour exactly never. Before Kowalski, Ray's experience with guys was pretty much limited to a couple of awkward jerk-off sessions behind the high school equipment shed. So he's understandably a little anxious about getting on his knees for Kowalski. 

Every time things start getting hot and heavy and Ray's talking himself up into just going for it, Kowalski's already working at Ray's fly before Ray can even come up with a way to say "Hey Kowalski, I wanna put your dick in my mouth," without sounding like an idiot. And half the time Kowalski's already taken care of himself by the time Ray's brain is working again, or else the perp they're supposed to be staking out starts making his move, and one way or another, Ray never gets to make his. 

Kowalski's never complained about the skewed blowjob distribution. He seems perfectly happy with the handjobs and frottage--which had to be a word he'd learned from Fraser, which Ray really does not want to think about--but it's starting to eat at Ray. He thinks about it in the car, at his desk in the bullpen, even in the interrogation room. 

In fact, he's thinking about it right now, sitting in the passenger seat of the GTO, going cross-eyed with exhaustion waiting to see if tonight is finally the night that Jimmy "Dodger" Calhoun slips up and shows them who's helping him front his model helicopter--and cocaine--smuggling operation. Kowalski's slouched down in the driver's seat, his shirt rucked up a little under his shoulder holster, exposing a pale strip of skin and a faint line of hair disappearing into the waistband of his button-fly jeans. Ray grits his teeth and drags his gaze back up to the third floor windows. 

"Twenty bucks says Calhoun's not gonna show tonight," Kowalski says, stretching his arms up over his head with a groan. His shirt rides up another couple inches, and Ray's stomach does something weird and fluttery. 

"No bet," he says, and thinks wistfully about adding, "You want me to blow you?" 

Except he hears the words come out of his mouth--sounding exactly as stupid as he'd thought they would--and when he looks over at the driver's seat, Kowalski's staring at him. Ray barely has time to start getting embarrassed before Kowalski's look of surprise turns keen and hungry.

"Yeah," Kowalski says. "Yeah, that'd be good." 

Ray looks at him, obviously hard in his jeans, breathing a little faster, those long, long legs stretching out into the footwell. He spends a little too long looking, maybe, because Kowalski licks his lips and slides back up in his seat, looking disappointed, like a kid who's had his candy taken away. 

"Good call," he says, with a sigh. "After last time, I guess we oughta be paying attention. Seeing how we're on duty." 

Ray wants to protest that he hadn't been thinking anything like that--does he look like Fraser over here?--but that'd sound even stupider now, and given his luck, Calhoun probably would make his move as soon as things were getting fun. Neither one of them can really afford to piss Welsh off at the moment, not after the trouble he went through to get them both back on at the 2-7. 

"Shift's over in forty-five minutes," Ray offers, watching Kowalski out of the corner of his eye. 

Kowalski grins and stretches a little, showing off for him. Ray shifts in his seat and stares resolutely up at Calhoun's apartment, hoping like hell there's nothing to see up there.

For once, luck is on their side. The Duck Boys even show up ten minutes early, and Kowalski lays down rubber peeling out of the alley. 

"Christ, you're worse than a teenager," Ray mutters, trying to decide if he finds Kowalski's enthusiasm flattering or terrifying. He half expects Kowalski to pull over somewhere, but Kowalski must be drawing on some special reserves of self-control, because he doesn't take his foot off the accelerator until he's easing the GTO into the tiny garage space he rents to keep her out of the weather. 

Kowalski's watching him out of the corner of his eye, and there's no way in hell Ray's going to cop to being nervous about this. He looks speculatively at the workbench and then at Kowalski, telegraphing the question with a smirk. 

"Yeah right, like you'd ruin the knees of that suit on the garage floor," Kowalski says, rolling his eyes. "Upstairs, Vecchio, move it."

As soon as the apartment door closes behind them, Ray starts trying to figure out when he's supposed to get down on his knees. He's not quite brave enough to do it like Kowalski would, right here in the doorway. On the couch, maybe; last time he was here, they'd watched a Bulls game on tv, and during half-time, Kowalski had leaned over and kissed him, warm and sloppy and tasting like Goose Island lager. The couch hadn't been built for two tall guys to have sex on, but Kowalski had climbed into Ray's lap and shoved his hand down Ray's pants, and they'd made it work. 

Afterwards, Kowalski'd slumped down on top of Ray, pressing lazy, fucked-out kisses against his jaw, his throat, and anywhere else he could reach without actually having to move. The memory makes Ray smile. Kowalski grins back at him, sliding Ray's suit jacket off his shoulders and draping it neatly over one of the kitchen chairs. 

"What's so funny, Vecchio?"

Ray doesn't get a chance to answer before Kowalski's kissing him. His dick is hard against Ray's hip, and Ray feels a little shivery thrill of anticipation. He hooks his fingers through Kowalski's belt loops, urging him backwards out of the kitchen, and Kowalski goes easily, almost like they're dancing. 

In the living room, Ray tries to steer them towards the couch, and Kowalski resists, so that they stumble a little, colliding, and Kowalski grabs onto Ray's shoulders to keep from landing on his ass. 

" _I'm_ worse than a teenager?" Kowalski asks with a smirk. "Vecchio, I got a perfectly nice bedroom ten steps away." 

But he's not pushing it. He just stands there with his hands on Ray's shoulders, waiting to see how Ray wants to do this. 

"I figured you were in kind of a hurry, the way you were driving," Ray says, nudging Kowalski towards the couch with his hip. 

"Nah," Kowalski says. "We got all night." 

"Yeah?" Ray raises his eyebrows and grinds his hard-on against Kowalski's a couple times, sliding his hands up underneath Kowalski's t-shirt. Kowalski whines, and Ray grins at him. "That's what I thought." But hey, if Kowalski wants to do this in the bedroom, Ray's okay with going those ten extra steps. Carpet'll be easier on his knees than the hardwood anyway.

Ray's been in Kowalski's bedroom before, sure, dragging Kowalski out of bed on days when they're taking the Riv to work or getting dressed after they'd showered together after tuning up the GTO, but Kowalski's actual bed, that's new and uncharted territory. Ray thinks about Kowalski dropping to his knees in the supply closet, grinning up at Ray in the dim light, and pushes Kowalski towards the bed. 

Kowalski makes a low, happy noise in the back of his throat and shrugs out of his shoulder holster, passing it to Ray to stick into the nightstand drawer, along with Ray's own sidearm and backup gun. Then he sinks down onto the edge of the bed and pulls Ray to stand in between his knees, reaching up to unbutton Ray's shirt. He moves right on to Ray's belt, like he can't help himself, and Ray winds up with his slacks halfway down while he's still wearing his shoes. 

"Smooth, Stanley," Ray says, covering up his embarrassment with a veneer of annoyance.

"Sorry," Kowalski says unrepentantly, and shucks off his t-shirt while Ray scrambles up onto the bed to kick off his shoes and get rid of his slacks. He's about to slide down to his knees when Kowalski leans over and kisses him, pulling them both down side-by-side onto the mattress.

Kowalski's got his hands all over Ray, running down the length of his back, curling around his hip, fingers teasing the skin under the elastic of his boxers. He's breathing hard, rubbing up against Ray a little, like he doesn't even realise he's doing it, and Ray pushes back helplessly. 

"Christ, Vecchio," Kowalski breathes. "You're so hot like this, _fuck_ , I don't need anything else, you don't have to--" 

Ray's chest swells a little with pleasure at the compliment, and he feels a rush of exasperated affection for Kowalski. He grabs Kowalski's wrist and pins it to the bed, rolling over so that he can prop himself up on his elbow above Kowalski.

"I know I don't," he says. "But you still want me to, right?" 

Kowalski nods furiously. 

"Okay then," Ray says. "Shut up before you talk your way out of a blowjob." He starts to get down on his knees beside the bed, and Kowalski grabs his wrist.

"Hey, no, what are you doing?" Kowalski demands. "Bed's a lot more comfortable, get back up here." Ray feels an absurd flush of warmth at that and climbs back up onto the bed to sprawl between Kowalski's legs.

He takes things slow, opening Kowalski's fly one button at a time. Underneath his jeans, Kowalski's wearing cotton boxers with faded little cartoon smiley faces on them, and Ray has to bite his lip to keep from grinning.

Kowalski wriggles helpfully out of his jeans and lies there with his fingers clenching in the sheets, trying his best not to act impatient. Ray grins and licks the strip of skin above the elastic of Kowalski's boxers. Kowalski makes a high-pitched noise and one of his hands comes off the bed to curve around Ray's jaw, his thumb rubbing against Ray's lower lip. Ray leans into it and Kowalski sucks in a noisy breath.

" _Vecchio_ \--" 

"Yeah," Ray says. "Okay." 

Kowalski shivers as Ray eases him out of his boxers. His hand slides down to grip the back of Ray's neck, his thumb rubbing unsteadily back and forth along Ray's hairline, not demanding, but pleading without words for Ray to touch him. Ray kisses the inside of Kowalski's knee, then the curve of his hipbone and the creases at the top of his thighs. Kowalski's breathing hitches at every touch, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't try to get Ray to speed up. 

When Ray leans in to lick a slow, careful stripe up the length of Kowalski's dick, Kowalski right out _whimpers_. Ray forgets all about being careful, and just goes for it. 

He doesn't have any first hand experience, but Ray's been on the receiving end of seven (and a half) of Kowalski's blowjobs, and you don't make it to detective first-grade without learning how to pay attention when it counts. Plus, he's been having sex with Kowalski for more than three weeks now. So he's got a pretty good idea what works for him. 

"Yeah, just like that," Kowalski grits out, when Ray wraps a hand around him--rougher than Ray likes for himself--and sucks hard on the head of his dick. "You're a natural, Vecchio." 

_Or you're just easy,_ Ray thinks about saying, but that'd mean he'd have to stop. He experiments with running his tongue along the slit of Kowalski's dick, gently at first, and then a little harder, so that Kowalski groans and the bitter taste of precome spreads over Ray's tongue. It's not his favourite thing in the world, but he'd put up with a lot worse for the way Kowalski gasps his name and rocks up into his mouth. 

Ray knows what Kowalski looks like when he's getting off, all slack-jawed bliss and heavy-lidded eyes, but he looks up at him anyway, because this is something brand new, and Ray doesn't want to miss it. Kowalski's eyes are fixed on him, and the look on his face is fond and soft. Something somewhere in that space between Ray's heart and his stomach squeezes up tight with happiness, and he looks away.

Kowalski doesn't ask for permission when he starts getting close, but he squeezes the back of Ray's neck by way of warning. Ray doesn't try to do anything fancy, just keeps on with what's working for them until Kowalski groans and gives it up. 

It makes Ray cough a little, but that doesn't matter, because Kowalski is urging him off anyway, saying, "Get up here, Vecchio, let me touch you." 

Then he's pulling Ray close, kissing him hot and wet and careless as he shoves his hand down the front of Ray's boxers. Ray's so hard he aches, and the first unsteady touch of Kowalski's hand on him is almost too much. He makes a really embarrassing noise, and Kowalski nuzzles against his neck, softening his grip and jerking Ray off nice and slow.

He's talking, murmuring against Ray's skin--"Is this good? Wanna make you feel good, Vecchio, 'cause that was amazing, that was the best,"--and the whole time he doesn't let up with that slow, sweet rhythm, pushing Ray right up to the edge of orgasm, and then tipping him over. Kowalski stops talking then and kisses him, a little off centre, his nose mashed up against Ray's cheekbone. 

When Ray opens his eyes again, Kowalski's pulled back to watch him, looking weirdly shy for somebody who'd just got his dick sucked. 

"S'late," Kowalski mumbles, running his clean hand through his hair. The alarm clock says it's 2.14 AM. 

"Yeah," Ray agrees and, screwing up his courage, adds, "You think I could crash here tonight?" 

"Sure," Kowalski says, his terse response completely at odds with the grin that's blooming across his face. 

Ray's about to lean in and kiss him again when Kowalski licks his lips, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and then stands up and disappears into the bathroom. Ray blinks, and sits there awkwardly on the bed, wondering if Kowalski'd expected for Ray to follow him or what. The bathroom sink runs for a few seconds, and then Kowalski comes back, carrying a glass of water. He sets the glass down on the nightstand next to Ray, a little too casually, watching Ray out of the corner of his eye as he climbs back onto the bed. 

"Thanks, Kowalski," Ray says, feeling stupidly touched by the gesture. He takes a couple sips of water, washing the aftertaste out of his mouth, and leans over to kiss Kowalski, trying to let a little of that happiness swelling up inside his ribcage show through. He thinks it works, because Kowalski smiles a little against his mouth. Then he leans over to switch out the light and pulls Ray down onto the mattress, tugging the blankets up over them. 

"Don't hog the covers," Kowalski murmurs. 

Ray snorts. "You got it, Stanley," he says, and scoots a little closer to drape his arm across Kowalski's waist.


End file.
